


The Same Kind of Love

by finefeatheredfriend



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, Vaginal Sex, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finefeatheredfriend/pseuds/finefeatheredfriend
Summary: From a tumblr prompt: you and Arthur are best friends, but Arthur wants better for you than the outlaw life and tries to set you up to marry a decent man.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Female!Reader, Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 126





	The Same Kind of Love

You cackled as Arthur, after spending the better part of fifteen minutes reeling and struggling and sweating, managed to pull in a tiny sunfish no larger than the palm of his hand. Flicking you an irritated look, he unhooked the fish and brought it close to his face, as though inspecting it closely.

“You sir,” he declared, “are a fish.” His blue eyes snapped to yours as you barked another hard laugh, ignoring the sudden bite you’d gotten at your own hook. “Keep laughin’, missy, and I’m liable to let that fish there pull you in.” He nodded his head toward the wildly jerking line in the water.

“Oh crap,” you exclaimed, tugging the end of your pole upwards to snag the fish. “You gonna keep that little minnow, or you gonna try to catch something we can actually eat?” you taunted as you struggled to keep your own fish under control.

“Keep it up,” Arthur said dryly. He gave you a side-eye, one corner of his lips raising. “Just figured I’d give him a little kiss before I bid him adieu,” he told you and he planted a kiss on the fish’s mouth before tossing it back in the water, spluttering at the slime. He was trying to distract you from your own fish, you knew, and it was working. You snorted as you laughed, fighting back tears of amusement as Arthur rubbed at his lips with disgust.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you oughta buy a fish a drink first?”

“Well, with all this water, I figured he’d had enough,” Arthur responded easily, re-baiting his line.

“I love you,” you blurted, your chest warming at his gentle, easy sense of humor. Your cheeks went red when you realized what you had just said, but Arthur just smirked at you.

“Love you too, Y/N. You ever gonna get that fish to shoar?” he drawled in that thick accent of his.

Because that’s how things were between you – you’d tell him you love him, either by accident, or in jest, always hoping he’d take it seriously. He would always reply that he loved you too, but it wasn’t the same kind of love, and you knew it.

You tried to ignore the dull ache the words always made you feel when they spilled so readily from his mouth. You were friends, best friends, and that’s just how things were. That’s how they needed to stay. You loved him too much to want to ruin your friendship. You’d been picked up as an orphan, same as Arthur, raised by Hosea and Dutch as part of the gang. You and Arthur, so close in age, had been fast friends from the start, gleefully tormenting the younger John and Tilly when Dutch brought them home.

For as long as you could remember, Arthur had been right here, right by your side, your confidant, and your friend, but Lord, how you wished he could be more. How you wished his casual air around you was because he loved you as a woman, not just as a friend.

“Hey, Y/N, cheer up, you’ll get him next time,” Arthur chuckled as your line broke, your thoughts too jumbled to be paying any attention to what you were supposed to be doing.

“Damn,” you muttered.

“That ain’t no way for a lady to talk,” he chided you, but his eyes were glittering with humor.

“You and I both know I ain’t a lady,” you retorted, and it was true. Though it appeared you were wearing a skirt, it was really an elaborate pair of pants with wide, flowing legs, much easier to ride horseback with. Tilly and Miss Grimshaw had made them for you after you’d torn at least your fifth dress skirt refusing to ride side-saddle.

“You’re all lady to me, Y/N.” You sucked in a breath, snapping your head to look at him. He had an odd, wistful expression on his face. “Well, you’re a lady to folk that matter, anyway. Look, I, uh,” he scratched the back of his head uncomfortably, “I met a real nice fella in that little town nearby, what is it, Edom or somesuch? Real nice guy, name of Alfred Muir. He owns a bit of land, and a house. I think he’s a vet mebbe? Or a farrier? Somethin’ to do with animals. Anyhow, I was thinkin’…” You smirked.

“You were thinkin’ I could use my womanly charms to rob him?” you said hopefully. His gaze darted to you, and his cheeks went crimson.

“Well, er, not quite, Y/N. I was thinkin’…well, hell, you deserve better than this life, and there’s a shindig comin’ up at the mayor’s house in a coupla days. I was thinkin’ if you went to the dance, then you could make Muir’s acquaintance. He’s a real nice feller, Y/N.” His eyes plead with you to understand his meaning. Cold fury poured through you, but you forced yourself to keep your temper.

“I am not property for you to auction off, Arthur Morgan,” you hissed.

“That’s ain’t…look, no,” he held his hands up in a gesture of supplication, dropping his fishing rod. “That ain’t what I’m sayin’. What I’m sayin’ is, this is a rough life. What if you could have better?”

“Better than what, Arthur? Open air? Freedom? The option to dress how I want?” you demanded, standing legs akilter so you could show how little you thought of fancy dresses. _Better than you?_ you nearly blurted.

At your demanding interrogation, Arthur’s face went very still. It was an expression you recognized, one of barely-contained rage. His knuckles were white where he had clenched his fists at his sides. Why would you questioning his plan to marry you off make him so angry? His voice shook when he spoke.

“I am just trying to do what’s best for you, Y/N. I picked up a newspaper when I was in town, saw his name. He’s actively seeking to court a wife. He wants someone to be his friend and his companion. I thought it was bullshit, but then I met him. I had drinks with him. He’d be real good for you, Y/N. He don’t just want a wife, he wants a partner. Think of it, as much as you love horses, as much as you love the outdoors? A decent man with a decent job? Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to get out of this runnin’ we do?” He was begging you now, his tone going from anger, to persuasion, to desperation.

“Why are you doin’ this to me, Arthur?” you asked, your eyes glittering with unshed tears. So much about what he was doing hurt you and angered you. You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. “I…” You swallowed a sob and jerked your fishing pole, folding it down to size and ramming it into your satchel to prevent yourself from snapping it just to relieve some of your fury.

“Y/N…”

“Don’t Arthur. Just…just don’t.” You climbed up on your horse, cursing yourself and your feelings. You looked back at him one last time and the expression on his face nearly broke you. He cared about you sincerely, but it wasn’t enough. “I love you, Arthur, but that is too much.”

“I love you too, Y/N,” he told you, and his tone was sincere. But it wasn’t the same kind of love, and you knew it. You spurred your horse and rode away before the tears spilled down your cheeks.

\-------------

The two of you danced, you a little breathless. Dr. Alfred Muir was quite a man. He was nearly as tall as Arthur with a head full of perfectly coifed black hair and vividly green eyes. He was kind, and gentle and actually quite pleasant to talk to, if a bit bland. He had a soft Georgia accent that gave all of his words a kind of sweetness, an alluring bend to every syllable he spoke. He was smart, but not arrogant. He twirled you around the dance floor expertly and when he drew you back toward him, you lost your footing, your hand going to his side to steady yourself. Beneath his silk waistcoat, you could feel hard muscle, the body of a man who works with animals for a living. Your hand, unbidden, drifted up and across to his chest, which was equally sculpted. You pushed yourself back, regaining your balance and tugging your other hand from his, needing a break, needing a moment to collect your thoughts.

“If you will excuse me, Mr. Muir, I am afraid this corset has me a bit short of breath,” you lied. You hadn’t allowed Miss Grimshaw to pull the damn thing as tight as it was supposed to be, though it was still uncomfortable compared to your usual flannel shirt and skirt-pant getup.

“Please, let me get you a drink,” Muir offered, his expression of concern genuine. You stared after him, your feelings conflicted. Well, if you did marry the man, at least all those scribbles in your journal wouldn’t go to waste – you’d doodled Y/N + A.M. hundreds of times over the years. Arthur Morgan, Alfred Muir, what difference did it make? you thought with a stab of pain in your heart.

A broad hand settled upon your waist.

“You look lovely,” Arthur murmured in your ear. You scowled up at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be busy pickpocketing rich folk?” His hurt expression didn’t make you lighten the irritation in your tone. You hadn’t spoken to him since your fishing trip, but you had agreed, at Dutch’s request, to serve as a distraction for the evening while Arthur went to work making the gang a bit of money, namely by robbing the mayor’s safe.

“I told you he was a fine gentleman,” he said, watching Muir where he was chatting with a few townsfolk, his expression friendly and charming. He made a joke that had everyone laughing and he tipped the barkeep so well the man gave him a half-bow as he turned away.

“Yes,” you said dryly, “very fine.” You turned to look at him. “Is this really what you want for me, Arthur?” He met your fierce gaze, his own a little sad.

“You know I love you, Y/N. I just want what’s best for you.” You took his hand, squeezed it.

“I love you too, Arthur,” but it wasn’t the same kind of love. You swallowed. “He’s coming back. I’ll talk to you later,” you dismissed him.

You spent most of the evening at Muir’s side, long enough that people began to notice. Nosy old women came up, smiling and in some cases actually pinching Muir’s cheek.

“Why, Mr. Muir,” they’d say, looking coyly at you, “it looks like you’ve finally found a woman to court. And isn’t she lovely?”

When this began, you had simply gritted your teeth, smiling and curtseying, as was required by polite society, but as the evening drug on, you began pouring more and more drinks down your gullet to numb the pain and irritation all this was causing you. Every time you spotted Arthur your anger at him grew. The bastard! Who did he think he was trying to pawn you off? How dare he? How _dare_ he?!

And that’s just the question you had decided to ask him when you spotted him slinking up the stairs of the mayor’s mansion, no doubt headed for the safe he was planning to rob. You murmured some slurred excuse to Dr. Muir that you had drunk too much (which was true) and that you needed a lie down (which was also true, though not what you were planning to do.)

“Please,” he said gently, “allow me to escort you upstairs. I’m great friends with the mayor, I’m certain he won’t mind you having a lie down away from the rest of the party.”

“ _Of course_ you’re friends with the mayor,” you drawled in an exasperated tone. Muir scoffed, a bit put off at the intensity of your disdain.

“Well, yes, I do pride myself on being an important member of our little town here,” he insisted with that damn ridiculous accent of his.

“Yes, yes, _very_ important,” you sneered, realizing belatedly that the drink really had gone to your head and that you needed to cool it before you got yourself kicked out of not only this party but this sleepy little town. Couldn’t have all those little old ladies clutching their pearls, now could you?

“Miss Y/N, you certainly do need a lie down,” Muir said coldly in response to your sarcasm. “Come now, the mayor has a nice couch in his study, just the thing for you to sleep this off.” You were about to say something nasty in response when you realized with a shock that the study was where the safe was. Your anger was about to get Arthur shot or hung.

“No!” you objected loudly, drawing the looks of several party guests, who raised shocked brows. “No,” you lowered your voice, “I’m terribly allergic to…books,” you ended lamely, drawing an odd look from Muir. “Er, uh, the dust, you see. Does the mayor not have a spare bedroom you could put me in?” you asked. Muir went quite red and spluttered.

“Miss Y/N, now I understand that you have had a bit too much to drink, but the impropriety, the willful disregard for morality!”

“I am not suggesting you _join_ me, Dr. Muir,” you cut him off, “I’m simply suggesting I need more rest than a couch can provide me.” He relaxed, looking deeply embarrassed when he realized that his mind had gone somewhere you hadn’t remotely been suggesting. Well, it told you all you needed to know about whether or not he was actually interested in you, though he would no doubt be disappointed to discover that you were no blushing virgin.

“Well then,” he said, clearing his throat. “I shall escort you to one of the guest rooms.” He did so, helping you not trip and fall on your ass as you traversed the stairs. At this point, you were nowhere near as drunk as you had let on, but you were exhausted with this whole ruse, exhausted with Arthur’s plan, and his meddling and his damn opinions about what should happen to you. Muir laid you down on one of the softest beds you’d ever been in and was gone in a flash, closing the door behind him.

For a few moments, you allowed yourself to just lie there, scowling when you felt one of the bones of your corset jabbing into your side. What had you come up here for again? Ah, right, to pick a fight with Arthur. You sat up, but then froze. You heard breathing. It wasn’t loud, but it was present. And it was _underneath_ you. Heart suddenly in your throat, you grabbed the knife tucked into your garter and darted off the bed, bending to look at the intruder lying on the floor beneath the frame.

“Arthur! What the _hell_ are you doing in here?” you demanded.

“Christ, Y/N, you about scared the life outta me, woman. I heard folks comin’ upstairs and I darted in here to hide. Next thing I know I hear the footsteps getting closer, and well…” He let his voice trail off and he clambered out from beneath the bed, dragging a bag full of bills and bullion with him. Evidently he’d already cleared the safe. You put your hands on your hips.

“And if Mr. Muir and I were to have gotten up to…something, would you have just laid there?” you demanded, your cheeks going red at the insinuation. Arthur looked at you sheepishly, but then his brows bunched.

“I don’t rightly know what I woulda done, Y/N,” he said softly and you thought he looked a little sick. Shaking himself, his eyes slid over your form, but before they could complete their circuit of you, you slapped him. “What the hell was that for?!” he demanded, instantly furious as his hand went to the offended cheek.

“For trying to set me up with that…jackanapes,” you hissed. “For trying to control my life! For trying to remove me from yours!”

The proverbial cork had just been expelled from its jug. Like a bottle emptying its contents, you reamed Arthur, your fury rising again at the suggestion that you just marry some kind but boring individual with less actual personality than a shoe. How dare he, you asked him, make so many assumptions about your wants and your feelings?

Arthur stood there looking at you, his face growing more and more still, his eyes glittering with pent up rage. You finally ran out of steam and stood there, panting.

“Well?!” you demanded. Arthur swallowed hard, his jaw trembling until he clenched his teeth together with a click. He forced a deep breath in through his nostrils.

“If I’d-a known just how much of a pain in the ass you was gonna be about it, I wouldn’t have bothered,” he scoffed, his tone affronted. “If I’d-a known how ungrateful, how childish you’d be, I wouldn’t-a wasted my time,” he went on, his tone going ugly and angry. Hurt tears gathered in your eyes.

“You’re a jackass, Arthur Morgan,” you told him, your voice quivering. “Maybe I _should_ marry that man!”

“Yeah, maybe you should, then I wouldn’t spend all my time tryin’ not to think about you,” he blurted angrily. Your eyebrows rose. Arthur gasped a breath at his own faux pas. He took a step back away from you, his fists clenched at his sides. “Maybe if you married him, I could let you go,” he whispered, closing his eyes and taking a trembling breath.

“Arthur,” you whispered, stepping close and putting a hand gently on his cheek, covering the raised red print you had left there. He winced slightly and you hated yourself for making him feel like he had to. His eyes met yours and you felt a sudden wet lump in your throat, as though you had swallowed a gob of butter.

“Y/N,” he murmured. You tilted your head up just as he leaned his head down, your lips nearly slotting together, your breath ragged as years’ worth of pent up frustration and adoration pressed you toward the singular goal of pressing your lips against his.

“Hey, someone’s been up here. The safe’s open!” came a voice from down the hall. You both jerked back, meeting each other’s eyes again, this time with panic on your faces.

“We gotta get outta here,” you advised, pointing out the obvious.

“You just stay here,” Arthur told you. “Let Muir keep you safe. He brought you up here, so you’ll be fine. No one will suspect you.”

“I cannot leave you to run on your own, Arthur.” _Not after that,_ you thought, breathless.

“You can, and you will,” he snapped. “I’ll be fine.” He pushed the window open, slinging the bag of money over his shoulder with a small grunt.

“Arthur,” you called before he left. He turned back to you. “I love you.” He smiled slightly.

“I love you too,” he replied, and you knew that it was the same kind of love.

\-----------------------

A few hours later, you stitched the small bullet hole in his arm shut, ignoring his hissed curses as you did so. You had done this dozens of times before, but this time it was different. This time your fingers lingered on his arm, your touch soft and warm. This time you met his eyes and things had changed. No more was he just a friend. There was something else between you, but it terrified you.

“I reckon we oughta talk about what happened back there,” Arthur swallowed, his throat clicking. Your heart leapt into your throat. Was this the part where he told you that this couldn’t be? Was this the part where he declared that one of you had to leave the gang? Was this the part where he announced that _he_ was the one who would be leaving, just to get away from you and what you made him feel? You looked at him uncertainly. Arthur cupped your jaw with the hand of his uninjured arm. “I always wanted better for you than me, Y/N. You’re my best friend, and I just wanted you to be happy, I swear. That’s why I tried settin’ you up with that feller.”

“I’m not going to be happy if I’m not with you, Arthur,” you told him. He clenched his jaw, nodded, thinking for a moment.

“Yeah, yeah, I figured you’d say that. I reckon…” You held a hand up abruptly, stopping the flow of words from his mouth.

“I swear to god, if you say _‘I reckon that’s why I have to leave,’_ ” you said, deepening your voice in a parody of his, “I am going to lose my shit, Arthur Morgan. I love you. I have always loved you. I can’t not love you. Please. Don’t leave me.” Arthur smiled shyly at you.

“What I was gonna say was, _‘I reckon we oughta see if your things will all fit under my tent,’_ but if you really want to fight about it, we can do that instead.”

You felt a shock of giddiness streak through you at his suggestion. Instead of responding with words, you kissed him abruptly, shoving him back into the soft leaves covering the ground where you had stopped to camp and deal with the wound he’d received while running from the angry citizens of Edom.

In an instant, all the want and ache of the years bubbled over and your hands were all over one another, tugging buttons open so roughly a few of them popped loose. Arthur moaned softly beneath you as your short fingernails scratched at his chest in an urgent motion to push his clothing away. He helped you, shoving his shirt and union suit off, untying the stays of your corset behind your back as you scrabbled at his belt and the buttons of his pants. You shoved them down, rubbing him to interest. You had seen him naked before, but this time was different. He wasn’t just casually bathing in the river next to you now, now he was growing hard and his fingers were hot on your skin, tracing the lines of your body as though it was a work of art. You wondered absently if you would end up in that journal of his. With a start, you realized you might be in it already.

“Get this off, darlin’,” Arthur husked, shoving away layer upon layer of dress. You grabbed the material and pulled in opposing directions until a loud ripping sound assured you that you wouldn’t have to wear this dress ever again. You tossed the material away, panting against him, his skin warm and soft beneath your own. You could feel wetness between your legs, want flooding you. You sat straddling his waist and you could feel the head of his cock prodding against the folds between your legs. You met his eyes, saw the uncertainty there, the guilt. “You shoar you want this, darlin’? Once we do this…” His words were consumed by a deep grunt as you abruptly speared yourself on his cock.

“I want you,” you assured him, leaning down so you could wrap your arms around his head, your mouth close at his ear, your breath fluttering the fine hair of his sideburn. “I want all of you, forever,” you promised, sliding up and down on his cock, moaning as you felt the pressure and burn of being stretched around him. Your eyes pricked with unbidden tears. You had wanted this for so long, wanted him in your bed, between your legs, but you had never allowed yourself to imagine it, always forcing away fantasies of him pleasuring you with his fingers or his mouth or his cock, feeling guilty for using your friend’s body in your mind. But now, now he was here, beneath you, inside of you, and it was better than any fantasy could have been anyway. “Oh, Arthur!” you cried as you felt the taut string within you snap and climax overwhelmed you.

“Y/N,” he growled, sliding a hand behind your back and turning you so that now you were on your back and he was rutting hard into you, grasping at your sides, his mouth insistent upon yours, his tongue tracing your lips, his breath hot against your skin as he made desperate love to you, ignoring the soreness of his arm. “Darlin’, oh, darlin’, I love you so much,” he told you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he arched into you, his hips shoving you forward and upward with the force of his thrusts. It was as though he couldn’t get himself deep enough, as though he wanted to consume you and be consumed. His warmth, the heat of his skin was like a fire burning with an intensity you had never known. You had had your dalliances, your rolls in the hay with boys your age, but Arthur was something else, something _more._

Arthur was the piece you had been missing all these years, and all these years he had been right there, saying the words to you in a way you simply hadn’t understood, as though he was murmuring “I love you” in a language you couldn’t speak just yet. But now you knew, and you understood, and you wanted to hear it again and again, like a mantra.

You raised your hips to meet his movements, sighing against him as you once again climaxed, your walls tightening around him, making him moan as you scratched your fingernails down his back, pulling him closer, meeting his eyes as he cried out in the depths of his own orgasm.

“I love you too,” you told him, coaxing him gently through his climax as he grunted against you, sinking his hips deeper and wrapping his arms around you.

“I love you,” he repeated, his forehead bumping against your own.

“I love you,” you echoed, and you knew it was the same kind of love.


End file.
